What Ails You?
by TheNegativeTwo
Summary: A young skald called Malark has his world thrown to the abyss when someone wants him very dead. Can he keep himself alive, can he protect the people he cares about, and will he be able to overcome this bloodthirsty spirit inside him? A retelling of the events of BG1, but with all the things that earn an 'M' rating. Includes some CHARNAME/Neera shenanigans.
1. Chapter 1 - Leaving Candlekeep

Malark forcefully swung the door to Candlekeep Inn open in a fit of frustration. The door audibly wailed under his force as it flew open.

"Ogmha, Malark; what bee got in your bonnet?" Winthrop chirped from behind the bar, but was quickly silenced by a look.

"Bitter Black Ale. Chain mail. Gold." Malark said, with a quiet firmness to his tone often unheard as he dumped his purse on the counter. Winthrop obliged, and grabbed the necessary bits and pieces. Malark downed the whole beer without even taking a second to pause.

"Ye alright, lad?" inquired Winthrop.

"Not particularly," grumbled Malark as he scratched at his beard. "I've been attacked. Hence the armour." He gestured to the dried blood on his morning star as he spoke. "Thank the gods I'm heading out, then. Resurrection is expensive and all."

"You resorted to your weapon?"

"Both the assassins seemed pretty keen on killing me, so I can't say I had much of a bloody choice." Malark paused for a moment. "Heh. Bloody."

Winthrop froze in utter shock.

"Come on mate," Malark mused, "if I don't take it at least a little lightly I'd go mental. Better I laugh about it now than become a paranoid wreck. As you deduced, I'm not exactly cheery about the whole debacle but I'll drink to not being raised." He handed Winthrop his empty glass. "Thanks for the beer. By the way, one of the guardsmen wanted me to get them crossbow bolts. Oh, the errands I run." He hopped down from the stool and walked over to the old man with long hair in the corner.

"Speaking of, here's your scroll, Firebead," he mentioned, passing the aforementioned item.

"Thank you kindly, young man," he replied. "Now, allow me to cast a spell on you to protect you from whatever other evil you may find today."

"I really should have come a little fucking sooner," mumbled Malark under his breath.

He left the inn, armour on, and continued his series of errands. The slight warmth of the winter sun's rays grazed his tousled brown hair. Mumbling quietly to himself about the poor quality of pay he got for running in circles around a library, he also remembered he was being paid to amble around a library; and that it may have been a fairly easy job to get paid for. Growing up in a library left one quite frequently shuffling into quiet reflection.

As much as he could never willingly admit it, growing up in Candlekeep had shaped Malark, for better or worse. He had found his love of poetry there, even if the majority of it was risqué ballads designed to woo the visiting daughters of academics. While the library itself was not particularly open to music or singing, one of Winthrop's cooks had given him a proper instruction in the instruments, even if the singing was mostly result of years of failing to woo visitors. The classes there were likely the best education a growing boy could ever receive, and Malark made sure to miss all of them hiding away reading stories of adventurers, which he would warp into his own stories of fantastic heroes from faraway lands.

As a result, leaving was a bittersweet feeling. On one hand, living his own adventure would provide him with infinitely more stories to tell, as was the calling of any bard. However, he did have some affection for it and the infinite tales found within, and the many late nights of candlelight and being woken by the monks after falling asleep with books as a pillow would be a sore loss to him. But people didn't always get to make easy choices, and remembering how those daggers had been clumsily been thrust toward him was all it needed to understand that this was no longer a choice.

"Hi watcher, I promise this time I wasn't picking any po… oh! Malark! Where have you been all day! Why are you wearing armour!" An excited pink blur passed before his eyes, and he was reminded of another reason he might have wanted to stay. "Are you scowling?"

"...Imoen," Malark forced out as he rubbed the dark circles under his dark eyes to labour the point. "Running in circles around the keep, I'm leaving today, and yes, I am scowling."

"Are you sad you're leaving? Gorion won't tell me where you're going, even if I really want to come on your adventure. Much better than Candlekeep. Yessir. Sounds amazing." Imoen pouted, almost as dramatically as Malark has rubbed his eyes.

"Alright, alright. I can take a hint. Get your shit, I'll have a word with Gorion."

"Pffft," dismissed Imoen with the wave of her hand. "There's no way he'd ever let you come along, especially with what I saw in that note of his - I wasn't snooping I promise I just happened to see it - and it was all doom and gloom and mysterio-"

"Imoen." Malark cut her off firmly. "What was in that note?"

"Oh, is it that dark already? I have to help Winthrop with the dishes! Bye Malark! I hope I'll see you again!" She yelled as she ran into the distance.

"WAIT!" Malark yelled, then sighed into his hands as the realisation dawned he'd never catch up. Worse, there was no way Gorion would tell him anything about that letter; worse still, it was actually starting to get late and he had agreed to meet Gorion before dark. Another sigh. He hated being kept in the dark about anything, especially after being attacked. He pulled up his hood and walked up the stairs to the entrance, greeting Gorion with a quick wave.

"My child, it is good to see you under such short not…" Gorion stopped as he saw the glare in Malark's eyes. "Odd to see you without even a lazy grin. Is something the matter?"

"I think you damn well know something is!" Malark flared back. "You tell me this morning we need to leave Candlekeep, Imoen's accidentally mentioned a note that scared the wits out of her because for some reason you didn't think she'd snoop around and I've had two assassins - admittedly, useless ones - try and stab me. Cut the shit - I'm a grown man."

"That's no way to speak to your father, young ma-"

"My fucking life is in danger here and I'll speak however I have to until I have some idea of whatever the fuck is going on!"

"You need to calm down, Malark," Gorion instructed.

"If I talked to you calmly about this, you'd deflect the question by either saying 'later' or just change the topic. Spare me."

Gorion sighed wistfully. "Whatever happened to that sweet kid you used to be, Malark? What happened to that laugh and smile of yours? The one the monks would have to chase to bed and hide candles from to stop you reading all night?"

"If I had time to indulge in nostalgia, I wouldn't be demanding answers. And the innocence died when that Ambercrown girl visited about three years ago. You know, the one with the -"

"Yes, yes, I think I get the picture!" Gorion frantically cut him off. "And no, I'm not going to tell you because what you don't know can't hurt you."

"I don't give a damn if it hurts me - the unease of not knowing is a worse ache."

"As I've always said, I'll tell you when the time is right. And right now, all you need to know is we need to leave." Gorion told Malark as they headed to the exit. "Now listen closely. If we become separated, head to the Friendly Arm Inn. I've two friends there - Khalid and Jaheria - they will look after you. From there, we head to Baldur's Gate and try and hide in the crowd. Simple enough plan?"

"Fine. I know you won't say anything you don't want me to hear, and I'm too decent to snoop." Malark sighed. "Sorry for losing my temper. But someone genuinely attacking you - trying to end your life - I mean, I'm sure you could bring me back from the dead, but it awakens something in you."

"What did it awaken?" Gorion asked, his voice low.

"Something primal and terrifying - like the way a gnoll hungers, is the best way I can describe it. Like, killing them wouldn't only make the world a better place, it was almost as if their blood would propel me forward."

"And you didn't like this feeling?"

"No. You know me, I'm a foppish entertainer, not some blood-hungry bodyguard. Really not into bawdy poetry, those types." Malark paused. "Or it might have been because I was calling them impotent in said poems." He stopped. "Were I a bet-maker, I'd give it even odds."

Gorion chuckled quietly. "Good to see you're back to your old self."

"Yeah, I just remembered those aren't the first people to try and kill me. Puts everything into perspective."

The night was dimly illuminated by the moon's silver rays as they fell into silence. A wordless nod was all it took for them to redirect themselves off the path. They travelled a few hours, and found it rather uneventful. The absence of any life, even the odd wretched gibberling made the night unbearably silent. Malark was always humming to himself quietly if things got silent normally; since stealth was vital however, he kept that under control.

."Come quickly, child, we must find shelter soon," whispered Gorion as they arrived at a clearing on the Lion's way, before quickly pulling up his hand. "Wait. We are in an ambush. Prepare yourself."

"You're perceptive for an old man. You know why I'm here. Hand over your ward and no one will be hurt. If you resist, it shall be a waste of your life." A shadowy figure in huge, spiked armour walked into the clearing.

"You're a fool if you believe I'd trust your benevolence. Step aside and your and your lackeys will remain unhurt."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, old man," said the armoured figure as the drew his sword and urged forward his companions. Two archers popped out of the darkness and let loose arrows.

"Run, child! Get out of here!" Gorion urged as an arrow struck Malark. Almost from the shock of the blow, he obliged, as Gorion turned to face the threat. A quick hand motion or two, and suddenly it seemed as there were many more of him than before, then he let loose a magic missile on one of the ogres that came out the wilderness, before exploding a pillar of fire onto it. A bolt of lightning crackled into the other one, and in the blink of an eye, both ogres were dead. He hardened his skin to stone before exploding a larger ball of fire onto the archers, and the cleric who had just stepped out from behind. The bandits were melted by the flames, but the cleric stood strong, and started to turn down his defences. Gorion launched a spell or two at the figure, but it barely seemed like slowing him.

Malark turned as for the first time in his life, heard Gorion make a sound of genuine fear. As he turned, the armoured figure's sword cracked forward in a burst of unholy light, and Gorion fell. Malark, quelling the scream that begged for release, darted into the bushes and hid, making himself as small as he could.

* * *

It was the small hours of the dawn where a hand gentle shook his should. Opening his eyes, a figure, still a little blurry, stood before him. The second after his brain started working, he drew his morning star and pointed it at the figure, before looking at the hand, dropping it, and laughing.

"I'm a delicate flower. Don't scare me like that, Imoen," Malark gently chuckled to the pink glove on his shoulder, which then helped him to his feet. "How in the hells did you find me?"

Imoen pulled him into a tight embrace. "Oh Gods I saw Gorion and I assumed you were just too badly hurt for me to find the body I'm so glad you're okay." She talked as frantically as humanly possible while tears streamed down her face, clearly scared out of her wits.

"You saw, then? Sorry, Imoen," Malark murmured, trying to console her.

Imoen drew a couple of breaths and calmed herself, before breaking the embrace and wiping her face. "It was the note." She took another deep breath. "After I read it I just knew something like this would happen and I couldn't stay still for a second longer. Then I ran off after you but you guys had gotten so far so I pressed onwards and then I heard all these sounds in the distance and then I got there and found Gor-" was all she could force out before her voice cracked again.

"Imoen?" I need you to focus on that note. What exactly did it say?"

"I can't exactly remember but I know that he left with it." Imoen paused for a second to think, then visibly blinked. "Oh no, we can't. We absolutely can't!"

"We'd have to sooner or later. Now let's head off." Malark started down the trail he had left last night. It amazed him that they had missed him in the dark. He thought they'd find him for sure, and still being alive right now was incredible to him. Getting the arrow out had been particularly uncomfortable, especially given the gunk it was coated with. Lucky would be the word to describe him, and that didn't sit well in his mind. He didn't like the fates leading his path.

They walked in silence to the clearing. Malark did a quick round scooping up whatever he could loot off the ground before nabbing the scroll off of Gorion's body.

"That's… that's Gorion, isn't it?" Imoen asked quietly.

"It was Gorion, at the very least. He was killed by the person in the spiked armour."

"Spiked armour?"

Malark began to describe the scene - the attackers, the threat being levelled at him, Gorion telling him to run and falling.

"I don't like this, Malark. Not one bit."

"Me either, Imoen, but I don't think even a High Priest of Lothander could bring him back. What's done is done. Right now, we don't have time to complain about it."

They settled into brief silence. Imoen was the one to break it.

"Should we, you know, bury him? I'd like to think he'd have done it for us."

Malark nodded solemnly and began to dig. Soon, he had covered the body, and left a small stone cairn. He then turned his attention to the note, which he promptly threw to the ground.

"There's nothing on here!" Malark screamed into the wilderness. "There's nothing here I don't know already! Gods be damned, I swear it's one of them trying to keep a secret from me."


	2. Chapter 2 - To the Inn

"What are the odds he's more useful than the last bloke?" mused Malark, eyeing off a raving man in green robes just along the path ahead of them. Imoen just rolled her eyes.

After burying Gorion, the pair had strolled back toward the path and ran into a travelling merchant named Kolssed. After a brief conversation, all they were able to get out of him was that travelling with like minded individuals was easier than constant group conflict, that the Friendly Arm was to the north, and the other pair of people travelling didn't look like a good sort. This, naturally, was of no value to people who understood that birds of a feather flock together, the location of the Friendly Arm Inn, and only devoutly worshipped the untrusting religion of cynicism.

So, despite the caution, Malark had made the decision to approach them, on the off chance they might be capable of more than mere pleasantries.

"Bit odd to see a pair as young as you on your own in the wilderness. He's got somethin' to say to ye," grumbled the halfling, as he gestured toward the green-robed man who was constantly muttering to himself.

 _If nothing else, at least this should make for a funny story over a beer._ A sly grin popped into the corner of Malark's mouth as he approached the presumed madman.

"What fools have we here, travelling these roads alone?" raved the man in green. "Mayhaps you could use some help in the form of a simple healing potion?"

"I don't like this, Malark," Imoen whispered. "Something screams that they're up to something. I don't trust his eyes."

"I mean, I'll take the potion - no strings attached?" Malark enquired.

"Only the strings of your conscience," ranted the man, throwing him a potion of healing. It was, in fact, an actual potion of healing that did everything one would expect in a proper, store purchased healing potion. This was rather surprising to Malark, but he decided to let the robed man finish his ramblings, waving his hands to move him along. "You see, there's some _horrible_ rumours about _terrible_ goings on in the mine in Nashkel and we're just _torn up_ about it, aren't we Monty?"

'Monty' just sighed in some combination of disappointment and unbridled fury.

"See how upset it's got him?" continued the man in the robes. "Now, to find out who's causing all of this, we're going to investigate, and given that fancy suit of armour and your companion's bow, I'm sure you two would be of _great_ help to us. How does that sound?"

"Would you like total honesty?" Malark inquired, which was met by a nod from the robed man. "It sounds absolutely horrendous." Both the man and the halfling stood agape. Malark continued. "I'm going in the complete opposite direction because I'm a massive coward and hiding out as a low-key poet in Baldur's Gate sounds like a much better idea than taking on whatever can cripple an entire town's economy. Thanks for the potion, but there is no way I'm even considering that."

They walked off swiftly, leaving the robed man ranting and raving and the halfling cursing at him to "shut up or I'll stab you so many times you'll be nothing but stabs." Or at least that's the best of what the two kids from Candlekeep heard.

"You doing okay, Malark?" Imoen asked.

Malark nodded. "I'm fine, Imoen. What's bugging you?"

"It's just… you're normally more… what's that word?" Imoen stopped to think for a second. "Insulting. That's the one."

"Just a lot on my mind right now, Imoen. Don't quite have the creative power to access my usual wit."

"Yeah, well, we'll get him back you know? I'm here with you to the very end and I'm going to make sure that he-"

"Imoen." Malark cut her off firmly. "Revenge is the furthest thing from my mind right now. What's happened is tragic, but I plan on just running from this one. I'm a _poet,_ for the love of Sune. You're a quick-handed kid, but you're not a hardened sneak like 'Monty'. We're outmatched. None of us are particularly good in a fight - we grew up with books in our hands, not swords. I'm smart, you actually went to lessons. We can't win this fight with the two of us, and I'm not one for being killed. Sounds painful."

"We can get friends, then. Some actual warriors have to like us, right? What about this Khalid and Jaheira?"

"They can get us to the city and then we leave it. Honestly, even staying in Baldur's Gate sounds like a bad idea, and the only reason I'm doing that is because it'll be easier to get from there to Neverwinter or Waterdeep or even Athkatla. I'm sad and I'm angry, but right now, that won't keep me alive. My smarts will, and unfortunately, I'll need a little luck."

Imoen smiled, in spite of herself. "I think Tymora might be on your side, Malark."

"After the day we've had?"

"There's an actual diamond in this tree."

Malark walked over, and after taking a single look, announced. "You have got to be shitting me."

They travelled eastward as the morning sun began to sit high on the horizon. Aside from a lone gibberling, which Imoen took care of with a single arrow, the walk was rather soothing. _Maybe this adventuring thing isn't too dangerous, and maybe I can take it a little easier._ Keeping the fear out of his eyes, for Imoen's sake, was his only priority. He could recall many of the memories of the ten years he had known her, and he knew that she took things harder than he did. To him, she was as good as a little sister, and the only remaining half of his family. He knew he could keep the walls of his sanity together on logic alone, and that would be enough for him. It was okay to cry for other people, but never himself. With that in mind, he continued on the sparsely forested path till his gloomy monologue was interrupted by an actual voice.

"Ho there, wanderer. Stay thy course and take a moment to indulge an old man. It's been nigh unto a tenday since I've seen a soul walking this road, and I've been without decent conversation since. Travelling nowadays appears to be the domain of either the desperate or the deranged. If thou wouldst pardon my intrusion, may I inquire which pertains to thee?"

Imoen burst into an excited tangent and attempted to see how many pronouns required to start with "th". Despite her mangling of the common tongue, the old man revealed to know of her, then directed his questioning more firmly at Malark.

"If you wanted deranged, we sent it to Nashkel without our accompaniment. Alternately, you could also go around to random strangers and ask 'Pardon me, but are you of sound mind? Perhaps unlike the last five who said no, you won't attempted to disembowel me, but clobber me over the head with a hammer instead!' Then look in a mirror, and you'll have found someone deranged."

"Gods, thou art just like Gorion described thee," mumbled the old man.

"You even talk to yourself just like that fellow in green," Malark noted.

"Be nice, Malark!" Imoen

"What do you want from me, woman? First you complain about me not giving people shit, now you're complaining about it. It's not like I can only insult the people you don't like! It's a constant state of snide remarks or nothing, and it's entirely dependent on… oh look he's leaving."

Imoen shook her head.

The next hour or so was marked with a couple of minor developments; a magic ring was found in a rock which was put to one side until they knew what it did, a ranger got mad at Imoen for having Imoen volume, and the party was attacked by a wolf. So when them wandering a little off the path lead them to what they found, a little bit of panicking was in order.

"Is that what I think it is?" Imoen was too frightened to whisper properly.

Malark just nodded.

"It's seen us and it's about to try and kill us, isn't it?"

Malark continued to nod.

"OH GODS WHAT DO WE DO?" Imoen screamed in panic.

"Relax, Imoen, I have a plan. Just shoot at it -"

"ME SMASH YOUR FACE! ME SMASH YOUR FACE TO GOO!"

"And I'll do what bards do best." Malark, with a wild grin on his face ran headlong at the ogre.

Singing.

 _Oh don't you know this battle's already won  
I've got this monster deep under my thumb  
A merry old jaunt is always all sorts of fun  
Because stupid ogres are big, slow, and dumb_

Sang Malark, as he skipped around in a circle in front of the Ogre. Completely enraged, it bellow and chased after him. Malark, having the edge of a cooler head, managed to avoid the ogre for long enough that Imoen's string of arrows was enough to bring it to the ground. Imoen shook her head in disbelief.

"I can't believe that actually worked!" She cheered, as soon as Malark began to collect belts off the ogre. "Are you hanging onto those?"

"Mmm, these are magic, and until I can work out what they do, we'd lose money on selling them. I mean, I could pay to get them identified, but I'm sure I'll work it out if I study them long enough."

"Maaayybe you should have gone to class, Malark."

"Well, 'maaayybe' we'd have died to an ogre because whichever floozy I was chasing didn't ask me for a second verse when I hadn't written one and had to get very good at making them up on the spot."

"Weren't they normally just about how impotent their bodyguards were?"

Malark flashed a grin. "Where do you think I learned to run away from?"


	3. Chapter 3 - The Friendly Arm Inn

The Friendly Arm Inn finally loomed before Malark and Imoen. Loomed ominously, almost. The huge, dark building with few lights eeking out of the top floor was a haunting sight as the moon could barely burst through the clouds. All was still, and all one could hear was the quiet croaking of cicadas. After finding another magic ring under a rock, and a more serious befuddlement as to who on Toril would leave all this stuff just lying around; the two of them entered the drawbridge.

Malark couldn't help but almost burst into laughter, and his first smile out of genuine joy in a couple of days broke through his face. _Look at us,_ he mused, _both of us in armour, bag full of loot, weapons at the ready, potions easily accessed - we actually look like adventurers!_ His heart was lightened by relief. _Khalid and Jaheira are here, that ogre was manageable, and we might actually be able to slink into Baldur's Gate in safety. We might actually survive. Guess Imoen was right about Tymora._ His rather unnatural fit of optimism was quickly broken by the scream of a woman in the house they were walking past.

"Oh damn them all to the hells!" was followed by the sound of a dull thunk.

After walking in the door, the woman who shrieked into the night explained that she was robbed by a band of hobgoblins, and wanted her ring back. In far less of a rush, Malark shrugged and agreed to get it back.

"What's the reward?" he asked.

The woman looked at him in shock. "I just got robbed, remember? You'd have to do this out of the kindness of your heart."

"Oh. Right. Yeah, sure, still sounds fine."

As they left the building, Imoen got into his ear.

"You totally weren't listening, were you?"

Malark's face crept into a sheepish grin. He was most definitely not listening. In fact, he was even tuning out Imoen as she talked about something, because something else had his attention. A robed man walked down the steps of the inn to greet them. His hand falling to the morning star on his belt, he faced the man.

"Hello, fellow travellers. What brings you to the Friendly Arm Inn?" inquired the man.

"Just need a place to rest. Long day. If you'll excuse me?" Malark tried to walk past when a hand placed on his chest pushed him back.

"Now, now, don't go anywhere hastily. Any chance it was Candlekeep you left this morning?"

"Wow! How did you know?" chimed in Imoen. In that exact second, Malark could have strangled her. _I can't believe you right now! Something isn't right about this! Oh, we are so fucked._

"Hold still, Malark, I take it?" said the man, "I have something for you."

"IMOEN! SHOOT HIM!" barked Malark, as he quickly quaffed a potion of speed. The robed man confirmed Malark's suspicions by firing off a spell to grant himself duplicates. He tried to get off another spell, but the speed of Malark and his morning star managed to break his concentration and left him a bloodied pulp on the ground.

 _FUCK!_ Malark internally screamed, as he read the note on the mage's body. His eyebrows shot up like fireworks. _Two hundred gold on my head? I'd almost kill myself for that sort of money!_

"Manos… Potentus… PAH!" Imoen's 'mage voice' interrupted his train of thought.

"Imoen, what on Toril are you doing?"

"Trying to turn you into a toad! Geez, this spellbook is amazing!"

"For fuck's sake Imoen, now is not the fucking time! Do you realise what just happened?"

"Yes, sorry. I was just trying to lighten the mood, is all," she replied, clearly upset.

"Ah, sorry Imoen. Didn't mean to yell. I just need a second to think, okay?" Malark gently apologised. _They must have tracked us here. I gave my name to no-one on the way. Mad mage and psycho halfling gave us a potion, but we told them nothing about ourselves, save that we were going to Baldur's Gate. If we were attacked there, I'd be able to blame them. The merchant suggested we go here or Beregost - I doubt someone would take that sort of fifty-fifty chance, unless he sent an assassin to both - although he did strongly suggest here. It just doesn't seem likely, but keep it in the back of my head._

"...Malark?" Imoen gently prodded his shoulder.

"Still thinking." _Old man - sent him packing before doing anything else. Knew by name Imoen, but he still would haven't known if we were going here or Beregost. What said we were definitely going here?_

"Gorion's letter!" Malark exclaimed. To settle Imoen's look of confusion, he continued. "What was the only thing that had a clearly set destination for us to go to? That note must have been compromised."

"Oh, well, that explains how he found us then. Is that a good thing?"

"Probably not." Malark shrugged as he walked in. "Hand me those scrolls, too. While you might be able to play around with those little things in the back, I'm sure I can bard my way through whatever those scrolls have. Also, probably best you talk to the innkeeper. I'm still figuring out our next best move."

Imoen nodded in response, and they entered.

The room was massive. Malark, still hyped on speed potion, wandered around to take it in. After finding out that roads were shut off and flipping off a half-orc who took him for a waiter, he sat down, and managed to work out the finer details of a couple of the spell scrolls. In the corner of the room, two half-elves walked over to where he sat.

"I told you I could see some of Gorion in him. Look at the way he reads," mentioned the woman, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"He's nearly the s-s-spitting image, dear," stammered her partner, his voice much quieter.

Malark glared at the pair. Trust was a little foreign to him at the time. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, where are my manners? My name is Jaheira, and this is Khalid. We were friends of Gorion."

"C-c-c-careful dear, he seems a little guarded."

 _Ah, fuck._ Realisation hit Malark like a ten tonne hammer.

Jaheira, noticing Malark remove his hand from his weapon, continued. "Gorion's absence means what I think it does, doesn't it?" Malark confirmed this with a nod.

"We share in your loss, then." Khalid was solemn.

"If something were to happen to Gorion, he wanted us to take care of you. However, since you're no longer a child, I leave this in your hands. If you are to accompany us, however, we do have to make a stop in Nash…" Jaheira began to explain, although Malark it seemed had other ideas.

"Sorry, but I'm afraid I have to say no." Noticing their confusion, and silencing their interjections, he continued. "While you aren't aware of it, someone tried to kill me in the last half hour."

"Even more r-r-reason for us to l-l-l-look after you!" Khalid exclaimed.

"He found us, I have reason to believe by tracking you. I don't want to fight this person who wishes me dead. I've a better chance of living if I run away, and to do that I need to be as hard to find as possible. If they found me through you before, it's a matter of time till it happens again. I do appreciate the offer for care, but I'm also not much help for you with that Nashkel business. Sorry. I expect to spend the night here and be in Baldur's Gate by tomorrow afternoon." Malark walked off, heading upstairs toward the room that Imoen had just procured. _I am not looking forward to having to explain that to Imoen. Eeesh._

As they walked upstairs, they ran into a few of the guests. One was a lady who accused them of smelling like ogre, then talked about being attacked by an ogre with a belt fetish. Malark put two and two together very quickly, and they got paid for their services. Imoen somehow ended up with golden pantaloons in her hands, which Malark immediately took to 'cajole his calves'. They also had a gnome request them to clear some spiders out of her house, and somehow weren't able to give no as an answer.

"We can probably make it to Beregost as a day trip in the next day or two, if we must. I'd rather not leave her request unfinished," Malark commented, and with that, the two of them went to bed.

The next morning, just before leaving, they popped in on Joia to give back the ring that they head earlier recovered from the hobgoblins. While Malark was rather unhappy at the thought of no reward after he had nearly died three times, he was able to begrudgingly return the item in question with minimal urging from Imoen.

They left with the sun still slowly rising over them, as they broke through the edge of the sparse foliage. A little fishing village popped over the horizon. Malark, keen to break for lunch suggest a break to the village, which Imoen quickly agreed to. Despite staying in the royal suite with all the services provided, fresh food on the road was still a precious commodity. As the buildings just grazed his eyes, Malark sighed in contentment.

"HALT!" cried out a voice from down the road. "Be you friend or foe?"

Malark buried his head in his hands. Sighing deeply, he looked up. "Has anyone ever answered 'foe', you oaf? Why the hells would you ask anyone that?"

"Well, aren't you the rudest traveller I've met in a tenday and a half! Off with you!" he barked.

"Sorry, sorry. Can we start over? Not my best effort."

"My name is Ajantis, squire paladin of Helm. I am here to end this bandit crisis. As for yourselves?"

"Oh, just travellers looking for safety in Baldur's Gate," Imoen chimed in. For the first time in his life, Malark was grateful for her butting in.

"The roads are dangerous, young miss. I wish you the best of luck in your travels." Ajantis commented, then resumed staring menacingly at the road.

"Ugghhh, you're insufferable," pouted Imoen. "Are you just scared of people?"

Malark just sighed and walked over to the village. He really had nothing to add. He just wanted to get himself out of danger as soon as possible. When people were that danger, trust was impossible.

If only he could work out how to tell Imoen.


	4. Chapter 4 - Meddling Do-Gooder

Pressed on by the desire of fish lunch, Malark and Imoen continued toward the little village. The serene view of the lake and the illusion of the calm environment around them was shattered by two fishermen having a heated argument.

"And we can't go on like this! Hey, you, over there – come 'ere a sec," chimed in one of the fishermen, and Malark obliged.

"Make it quick, mate, I've got a schedule to keep."

The group looked around at each other and seemed to come to some sort of agreement. "We're poor folk not accustomed to trouble, and now we can't get a boat into the water before it pours," mumbled one of the group.

"It's that bitch of Umberlee!" accused another.

 _Oh, this'll be good. Crazy evil sea goddesses just brighten my fucking morning._ Malark rubbed his temples. "You angered a priestess of the bitch queen, then? Not usually a bright move."

"Spare us the commentary. Anyhow, if you could... take care of her for us, I'd be grateful enough to offer you a magic weapon from my grandfather's adventuring days," offered the third.

"Alright. Just to the north of here, yeah? Sounds like a quick enough detour." Malark turned and walked.

"Malark?" inquired Imoen. "Why are we helping them? Aren't you running to Baldur's Gate to avoid being killed?" She put on her deepest voice and best impression of Malark, needless hand gestures and all.

Malark sighed quietly. "Because even if it's a mess of their own making, they still need help. Besides, I don't think it'll make much difference if we get in in the afternoon or evening. Also, Umberlee? Kinda awful."

Imoen's face lit up. "Oh my gods we're finally real adventures! Imoen the magnificent, hoarder of treasure and defender of justice!"

Malark just looked in utter confusion.

"You know, like a hero name? All the good heroes have one!"

"You mean, all the heroes that weren't the best at being their name. Elminster. Drizzt Do'Urden. Balduran."

"I never thought of that. Pick one anyway," teased Imoen.

"Malark the doesn't-want-horrible-things-to-murder-him-because-his-companion-is-very-loud?"

"Imoen huffed and sulked behind him. "You're no fun."

"Ask that girl from Chult."

"Imoen rolled her eyes. "You're the worst."

"Once again, ask that girl from Chult."

Imoen pouted more.

* * *

A light shower began to roll in, and Malark pulled his hood further up. Overcast conditions always made him weary, although that might have been a consequence of him being unable to sleep through rain. _Although now I'm going to have to do that outside in the not too indefinite future. Yaaay._ Quietly chiding himself about how his sense of humour should be dry enough to weather any storm, he walked northeast along the road, hoping to avoid whatever it was that ate people over here.

"Imoen?" Malark put a hand on her shoulder to stop her walking further forward. "What is that?"

"What is what?"

"Those," Malark gestured to two antenna looking things poking out of the ground.

"It doesn't look all that sca..." Imoen was cut off by it bursting out of the ground.

A huge, green, beetle-like creature let out a high-pitch wail as it loomed before the two adventurers.

"Ooooh, I remember what those are. That's an ankheg! I completely forgot it was mating season alr-"

"MALARK I DON'T CARE JUST RUN!" Imoen bellowed at the top of her lungs, grabbing Malark by the right wrist and sprinting like a terrified rabbit

"Actually, I think that one's a female – also, those eyes are amazing close up," continued the bard, deflecting a glob of acid shot at the both of them with his buckler. "Huh, that was close." He continued to keep pace, despite the hand on his wrist.

"How are you not terrified! I thought you were Candlekeep's biggest coward! You've said so yourself!"

"Oh, I just said that to get out of doing stuff. You'd be amazed at how much rat extermination you could avoid by telling Reevor that you were scared of mice!"

Imoen shook her head, completely aghast. A woman with a spear, red hair, and a scowl jogged over to the party.

"Any chance you could give a local ranger a hand? The local ankheg population-"

"Oh, right, aerating soil and all that – hey look, do you see how good we are at helping? There's an ankheg over there," Malark pointed at the ankheg chasing them as he and Imoen ran into the distance. "You should kill that one! Definitely."

"I thought you were joking about being a coward!" Imoen huffed, not sure how seriously to take anything Malark said at this point.

"There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity, Imoen. Bravery is a cool head in the face of danger. Stupidity is not realising you're in danger. I'm running from the assassins because I'm afraid, but I'm not freaking out. Just like I wasn't freaked out by the ogre. Just like this ankheg didn't get to me. Just like the only reason the third assassin-"

"That was the third?"

Malark glared at Imoen and cleared his throat. "The third assassin freaked me out because I hadn't worked out where I had gone wrong in my reasoning – not because I was scared, but because I was frustrated by the failure of my methods and needed to hastily come up with a new way of handling it."

"No-one thinks like that!"

"You grew up in a library as well, I'm surprised you don't. Now come on, we've got a priestess to kneecap."

After a quick, ankheg free, lunch break, the pair continued north. Malark looked longingly at Wyrm's crossing, and continued along the road through the patter of rain to the hut. Outside stood a child on the cusp of adolescence. _Oh, no. You've got to be kidding me._ Malark grimaced as it felt like a stone plummeted to his core. He had a sinking feeling that this wouldn't end well for anyone and that there was a lot more to the story than he'd been told.

"Stop! You are trespassing on my land home!" cried out the young girl.

 _Ah, fuck, she's the one._

"None come this way armed as you are. It was those horrible fishermen that hired you, wasn't it? Speak!"

"Uhhh...yeah. They sent me. I'm now curious about the other side of the story-"

"If you do not leave I will assume you are allied with my enemies!"

"Malark, she's just a kid..."

"Thank you, Imoen! I'm actually blind and deaf, so I had actually no ability to work out how old she was," Malark retorted.

"The seas cry out for vengeance! DIE!" cried out the young priestess.

Malark fell face first on the ground and winced in pain. Imoen, realising the young girl was actually dangerous, just panicked and ran around. The girl summoned a hammer, but it wasn't much use after Malark, movement returning to his limbs, knocked her legs out from under her.

"Imoen, for the sake of... you know if someone's slinging spells at us, you shoot them, regardless of how they look! Illusions are a thing!"

"I don't think this one was an illusion..."

"You're right, it probably wasn't, but still. A threat is a threat. Now, what do you have to say for yourself, young missy? Imoen, don't answer that. Probably the first and only time that it wasn't directed toward you."

She explained her story fairly quickly. That the fishermen had killed her mother to stop paying their due to Umberlee, and that before then they stolen her bowl for summoning elementals. They had also tortured the words to make it work out of her first. Her mother's spirit was unable to rest, and while the girl had power, she was exhausted from the pressure Umberlee provided. Malark agreed to help, and full well knew what he was going to have to do to the fishermen. Imoen had asked why he had changed his mind.

"Because they'd have told me the truth upfront if they weren't trying to hide something. Like the fact she was a child. Or that they stole the bowl. No. Something else is going on here, and I don't like being lied to."

It was very late at night by the time they returned to the fishing village. Despite Malark's best efforts, there was no fish in any of the meals. Between running from an ankheg and scalping a bandit, he was very eager to wrap this up as quickly as possible. Giving Imoen a look that very clearly entailed 'Don't talk and get ready to shoot', he drew up to the fishermen.

"Back, I see."

"Have you done it? Have you killed the bitch?"

"I haven't – you haven't told me half of what was going on. Spill it. Now."

The fishermen looked amongst themselves, panicked. "Do you really want to know, boy?"

Malark drew his morning star. "Only reason I haven't started swinging."

"Guess the jig's up, then," mentioned the fisherman who hadn't spoken so far.

"The tribute just got too expensive, and Umberlee won't let you sail if you don't. So we talked to the priest of Talos in Baldur's Gate..."

"TALOS?" yelled Malark.

"Needless to say, we are all now pawns in the 'friendly' rivalry of the gods. So be careful here when picking a side. You may tread on some powerful toes," cautioned the fisherman in blue.

"Enough toes that actually touch the material plane want me dead. I don't care about the divine powers that be. Find yourself a more willing pawn, fisherman."

"So be it," he responded, "though your name won't mean much if you keep breaking deals. Guess we'll just go handle her ourselves."

"No you won't!"

The groups moved quickly into action, but the excitement was mostly bluster. The fishermen were little match for the pair, and within a minute or so, they lay bloodied on the ground. Taking everything they owned, they proceeded back to the hut to the north, as dawn began to rear it's ugly head. They could probably be in an inn within the next couple of hours or so, and hopefully there would be some reward that they could spend – although they had no shortage of gold. They could probably make that last a year if they had to. _See why people do this adventuring thing, despite the mortality rate. Then again, we found a diamond in a tree, which is about half our wealth. Mightn't be the norm, then._ With a growing sense of hope, they walked to the priestess.

They were thanked, but there was no reward bar a favour from a goddess. Malark could have done without it, but he still had a gut feeling he should trifle less with deities. _Then again, how much worse can it get? Salvation is just a bridge away and soon I'll have a roof over my head. It's been a fun adventure, but time to wrap this one up and hang up the old smacking sticks. Maybe I'll even sell this magically imbued flail – that'll keep us going._

As the sun started to crack the horizon, they headed to the bridge.

* * *

A/N: Thought I'd include a little bit of fluff here.

Malark – Human Skald, Neutral Good.

15/15/14/17/8/15

\+ Flail/Morning star, + Sword and shield style.

I'm honestly surprised anyone at all has read this, so the fact that people are (and some even come back!) is pretty cool. Next chapter kicks the plot of the game into gear, and we actually recruit someone! Stay tuned.


	5. Chapter 5 - Heel Turn

"What do you mean you just closed off the entire fucking city?"

Many living creatures are quite calm under pressure or when things go wrong. Malark, in spite his inability to have something resembling a long term plan, was usually pretty good at handling things going wrong. However, there are some times in anyone's life where everything they were hoping for just falls apart. For him, it was the Flaming Fist closing the city of Baldur's gate.

"I said that because the Flaming Fist are protecting the border with Amn, that we can't keep the city safe from the bandits roaming the countryside and that you can't enter," replied the guard, a little tired and dedpan given the sun was rising and his relief hadn't come yet.

"For the sake of the gods, man, I'm a travelling poet and I can handle myself against these bandits. How in the hells can trained guards consider backing down?"

"Not repeating myself. Move along."

"Fucking wanker," Malark mumbled as he walked off the bridge. _This is very not good. Where do I go now? Athkatla? I'd be dead before I could make it, even with a small army. Think, godsfuckit. You can find a solution… solution… oh no, that's crazy-_

His train of thought was interrupted by a pink hand on his shoulder. "Malark? Whatchu thinkin about? Seem pretty lost in thought there."

"What gave it away? The silence?"

"Oh, no, it was you nearly walking into this tree," Imoen giggled, as she pointed to the tree he hadn't noticed until she pointed it out. "So do we smuggle ourselves in?"

"No, I've got a much more sensible idea. What's actually stopping us going in?"

"Huh? Something about Amn and all the bandits, right?"

"Not quite the exact words I was looking for, but definitely close enough that you get the point. Anyhow, I don't see us being able to stop a war - much more likely for me to start one, all things considered."

"So, what you're saying is…" Imoen screwed up her face in thought, "I actually have no idea. What are you saying?"

"We get rid of the problem and wipe out the bandits."

Imoen froze, as if her gaze had just met a basilisk's. She even stopped blinking for longer that most ever would.

"What? Hiding in Baldur's Gate still makes sense, if now or a month or two from now. So we keep a low profile and go toe to toe with the bandits. I'm sure we can gather enough people that we'd actually be a fighting threat - any ally we get, I get stronger. Look, we've got nowhere else to go, and we can afford to be on the road for only so long. I mean, it's a small miracle we're not being digested by ankhegs, even if I did find you screaming in terror pretty funny. Also, I'm sick of doing nothing. This is an excuse I can justify, at least."

Imoen collected her thoughts and nodded. "So...umm...how do we start?"

"I know just the man for the job," announced Malark, with a wolfish grin on his face. "C'mon."

By now, it was clearly day, and sleeping was just a luxury that would have to wait. Adventuring was not a profession for those keen on keeping a schedule. After escaping another Ankheg or two, they returned to the armoured figure waiting on the road.

"Hey tin man," greeted Malark, needlessly cheerfully, as he approached Ajantis. "How's it… ummm...smiting?"

"As a paladin, I have much to do and cannot tarry about for idle tasks," curtly replied Ajantis. "So if you have something to say, make it quick."

"Tasks such as wiping out bandits, right? Well, as far as I can make out, they have a base of operations in Nashkel. Fancy a walk?"

"What?" Ajantis visibly blinked, confused.

"Right, someone who's not used to my oddly academic sense of humour. I'm going to the south to bash some bandit's heads in; would you like to join me on the smashing quest?"

"Certainly! By Helm, it's good to have a friend or two!" Ajantis gathered his gear as frantically as he could.

"Glad to have you aboard, AJ," Malark offered his hand.

"AJ?"

"Ajantis, right? You're stuck with AJ now. Less syllables."

"But… miss, surely you can't approve of this… mockery!" Ajantis panicked, quite red in the face.

"...I like AJ…" Imoen mumbled, a little sheepishly.

AJ sighed, resigning himself to his fate. "You'd better prove yourself a man of honour, Malark. I have no time for scoundrels."

"You're travelling with a bard and a thief. Get used to it."

* * *

The party returned to the Friendly Arm to rest and recover. Malark purchased a fancy new buckler, to which he commented 'Smells like the cemetery but the magic bonus is totally worth it'. Come the hour they woke, which was the middle of the night, Malark's attire of choice sent some shockwaves through Imoen.

"No armour?"

Malark nodded. "I'm getting the hang of some of that magic we found in Tarnesh's spellbook and some of the scrolls the hobgoblins had, but there's no way I can cast it in armour. May as well use an armour spell until I'm out of magic and then put it back on."

The road to Beregost was nearly uneventful, were it not for Malark's sense of academic curiosity. Finding a raided caravan, which contained a few coins of loot, the party consensus of two to one meant they went hunting for other abandoned caravans.

The second one was easy enough to find; it also had the same smell that Malark's new shield had. It was, however, a little more complicated to loot.

"Boy, are you in the wrong place at the wrong time. Have to kill ya now. Nothing personal, you understand?" stated a woman, matter of factly, as she drew a sword.

After a roar about the glory of Helm, AJ burst into the fray. Imoen, using her absurd quickness, shoved the remaining healing potions into his pack. Malark, channelling his newfound magic power, threw a sleep spell into the fray. This proved to be the only thing that saved them in the end.

AJ and the woman bandit hefted their swords at each other. While he was more physically powerful, she was quicker and in better armour. It proved quickly she had better endurance, and AJ had to down the last two potions to stay on his feet. Malark's song of battle rang out, as he ran at the other remaining bandit, forcing him to draw his sword and try and strike him down. The armour spell he had cast once they reached the road and the magic woven into his song made him an unhittable target. Eventually, the woman fell as AJ cleaved through her unprotected head. Without her leadership, and two thirds of their number still asleep on the ground, the battle was won swiftly. Malark got to work on the scalps and loot while AJ finished off the last couple of bandits.

"Huh, that's a fancy brooch." Malark held up one of the treasures he found. "Silvershield… rings a bell, at least. Better hang onto that. And her armour would look spiffing on you, AJ. Not like she has any use for it."

Ajantis just stood in shock. "Malark, if I may - a word?"

Malark gestured for him to continue.

"So your preferred method of fighting is not the magic flail on your belt, but to get as close to the enemy as possible and sing? Ajantis cried out, incredulous.

Malark just shrugged. "I mean, getting close is kinda icky. Would have sung at a distance if stopping them shooting you wasn't a better idea."

"And you think you can beat these bandits?"

"I'm a fantastic tactician and I've got a very vested interest in doing so. I think I can find a way. Besides, it's not like I can't charge in and bash some heads in. Or sling spells. Point is, I'm smarter than whoever's in charge of this whole bandit thing. That's enough to beat them."

"Where does your knowledge of these things come from?"

Malark, ever the eager storyteller, threw his arm around Ajantis' shoulder and began to regale him with the flair of an overzealous preacher. As Ajantis tried to escape, Malark just held tighter and continued to try and make years of long nights of reading, fleeing from authority, and a lot of mostly failed womanising into a saga worthy of the ages.

Imoen just rolled her eyes.

Ajantis managed to escape after the twelfth verse of his word-for-word recount of the longest bawdy limerick he'd ever ad-libbed, by which point Malark was getting bored of torturing the paladin's innocence. They stopped on the outskirts of Beregost for a spot of late breakfast, and while Ajantis sat off to the side eating Imoen's latest creation, Malark pulled her aside for a quick word.

"How're you finding the adventure, Imoen?" He asked, a little apprehensive.

"Well, I guess overall it's better than washing dishes in Winthrop's kitchen, even if I'm just washing dishes in a slightly different environment." Imoen retorted, as she rinsed her bowl.

"That wasn't what I meant, Imoen," sighed Malark, rubbing his temples. "Why are you still here? I'm the one in danger, Ajantis has religious fervor and is contractually obli - do you think The Order of the Radiant Heart has a contract?"

"What? No? What?" Imoen reeled from the juxtaposition in the mood.

"Sorry, just a funny thought. Anyhow, point being, you really don't need to be here, and I don't see any reason for you to put yourself in danger. So what gives?"

"Are you being serious?" Imoen asked, a little forcefully.

"Yes."

"Good, because I can never tell with you. You run off into tangents about holy orders and contracts and stuff-"

"Now you're tangenting, miss pot calling kettle black!" Malark cried out, both of them oblivious to the fact the pot was blackening on the stove as those very words were said.

Imoen just rolled her eyes. "Because you'd be dead without me."

"Fair enough," Malark shrugged. "I mean, it's not that I'm not grateful, it's just, ah, fuck it, I'm not very good at this." He took a deep breath. "Like, I'm glad to have you but worried you'll get horribly killed? Something like that."

"You are the worst bard."

"I'm a singer of sagas of struggle and strife who sparingly slings select smutty sonnets. Not some salesman of sappy sentiment."

"I can't believe you spent three years 'attaining the altruistic art appellated alliteration'," moaned Imoen, as she buried her head in her hands. "When is that ever going to come in handy." She paused, then interrupted Malark before he could open his mouth. "And don't you dare say that Chult girl!"

"At least you never forgot it," Malark said dejected, visibly deflated.

"Because you said it, like, a thousand times!"

"Yeah, because it's really good," laughed Malark. "Besides, we killed an ogre because I made fun of it. I'm sure my years of goofing off will win us plenty of battles to come. Improvisation is mightier than any sword."

They continued to argue for the better part of an hour, before Ajantis had heard enough cursing in front of a 'decent young lady'; a term he could only loosely use to describe Imoen at that point in the argument, and the party packed up breakfast and went on to Beregost.

* * *

A/N: So yeah, they backpedaled and got AJ. I think I'll have the hang of writing him in a chapter or two; I think just ruining his day as much as possible until he's a broken shell of a knight seems pretty funny. Imoen is tricky to write but I really think I need her in order to give Malark a conscience. Hopefully these walls of dialog are okay; I'm a scriptwriter/VN author by trade and it's been a long time since I've sat down and written something. (It shows, spellcheck makes me wince every time I hit F7.) Anyway, next time you can expect more walls of dialogue, a new companion, and more haphazardly written battle scenes!


	6. Chapter 6 - Beregost

"Well, here we are. Beregost. Whatcha think?"

The city bustled in the distance as the trio entered the area. A few armoured guards milled about the entrance, while the cries of merchants and the general cacophony of city life drifted over like a haze.

"...It's a city? Imoen, I haven't even walked in yet. What on Toril do you expect me to say? Tis an exquisite sight on mine eyes? A jewel of prosperity in the void of the hostile landscape? A hovel of a million dreams? You can't expect me to-" Malark's rant was cut off halfway through, causing him to pout.

"Better let me do the talking if all you're doing is complaining. Not surprised, a hayseed like you stumbling out into a big city - bet you're scared!"

"Spare me, oh exalted travelled one," said Malark, waving his hands in some vague interpretation of a holy ritual. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you spent ten years ruining my ability to sleep through the morning by shrieking on the other side of the same library I was trapped in."

"I travelled with Puffguts!"

"Yeah, when you were like, four."

"I still know that Feldeposts is really nice! And I haven't had a hot bath in aaageesss," Imoen gave Malark the strongest dose of puppy eyes she was capable of pulling off.

"That has literally never worked on me," Malark said dismissively. "Also, 'aaageesss' I think requires it to be longer than a day. Remember how we literally had servants waiting on us at the Friendly Arm because I have no idea how to live within our means?"

"On the subject of spending money, we need a new pot to replace the one you ruined-"

"I ruined? Imoen, you left it on the fire!"

"Yeah, well, it was your idea to let me cook!"

"Imoen, have you ever eaten my cooking? It wasn't an 'idea', it was a necessity."

"You distracted me by talking about feelings and stuff!"

"Yeah, but it was still your job."

"Oh, whatever. I also need a new hunting knife because 'someone'," Imoen said, as innocently as possible, "threw it at a chicken because they wanted chicken!"

"I swear I heard that chicken say 'fuck me dead' but I'll put that down to a very stressful couple of days."

"And a new tunic, because my pink one got ripped,"

"Which pink one? The mildly pink, the off pink, or the pinky pink? Because I honestly couldn't tell you the difference. Do you own anything not pink?"

"Whatever! It was my favourite! Hurry up, slowpoke! We've got things to do."

Malark offered a silent prayer to Ilmater to grant him reward for his intense suffering, and headed into town. After dismissing a local tour guide by asking him where he could get a beer and finding Feldepost's was closest, he walked straight there.

"'Ere now, get out! I don't like your type in here!"

Malark, not lacking in experience with angry drunks in bars, just ignored him and headed to the counter and getting a mug of 'whatever's cheapest'. This avoidance was not met with success.

"Hey! I told you to get lost! Ain't no room here for troublemaking strangers!"

"Take it easy, mate. Plenty of space here for all of us. No need to make a scene," Malark let an oddly soothing tone into his voice. He then braced himself for the predictable caterwauling that followed that remark.

"I'll cause any scene I fuckin' well please!" was followed by a hiccup from this 'Marl', or so his friend at the back of the bar shouted toward him. "You all go out, fuckin' doin' god knows what and then bring all that shit back to my town! How does that sound, you little prick?"

Malark sighed, and reached into his spellbook. One quick application of a charm spell later, he was comforting a crying Marl who had lost his son to kobolds. _Thank the Gods for the weave._

"Why didn't you try and argue with him?" asked Ajantis, once Malark had dealt with the sobbing man.

"My three rules, AJ - don't cry for the stupid because you'll never stop; don't scorn a woman or she'll go to the abyss to ruin your breakfast; and don't reason with a drunk, because your tongue will fall out before they listen," Malark rattled off, this clearly not the first time he'd said it. "Now I'm going to buy a book. It's time to visit an old friend."

He walked across the street into one of the homes.

"Ah, you're old Gorion's ward, the lonely kid of Candlekeep! Of course! I heard about the loss of Gorion, and I must give you my deepest condolences," Firebead said, as he ushered the party toward the table. Books and coffee lined the table, thrown in a haphazard manner that screamed obsessive scholar of Candlekeep. Keeping at bay the nostalgia that burned painfully in his very bone, Malark sat down, while Imoen tried her best to get Firebead to fuss over her.

They talked about literature, and swapped books - _The Fateful Coin_ for _The Dead Three._

"Ah, _The Dead Three!_ I was oddly fond of this growing up, if I remember," Malark burst into childlike glee, all pretense of adventuring bard lost in a good read. "It's one of few great battles of the minds."

"Isn't that the story of Bhaal, Bane, and Myrkul?" inquired Ajantis, a bit of caution in his tone. "If you're hiding something…"

"Oh, relax AJ. I'm not some secret worshipper of evil gods. I just enjoy a well written tale, regardless of moral values or lack thereof."

After walking into another pub because Malark 'wanted to get a taste of the local flavour,' and promptly being robbed, leading to Malark chasing a halfling all around the building till he ran out of breath, they headed out to find someone outside dramatically slide up next to them.

"Hail, adventurers! I have a proposal for you. I've have heard that you're an excellent group of warriors. How would you like a well-paying job as bodyguards for my mistress?"

Malark and Imoen, slightly confused at being considered capable warriors, quickly agreed once the payment of three hundred gold was suggested, and Malark was only slightly fussing under his breath that there was no way this 'Silke' was a better performer than he was.

"So, Garrick, these are the only mercenaries you could find? I guess they'll have to do. You look to be worth about three hundred gold, that's what my little Garrick offered you, isn't it?" Silke spoke as if narrating to thousands.

"Garrick is not little! Good thing you're an actress, not a painter; would have been a problem bein' blind, huh. 'Cause if you don't see for yourself how tall he is, ya sure are blind!" Imoen shouted to Garrick's defense.

"What?" balked Garrick and Malark, simultaneously, before both went back to business mode.

She explained the situation, and the party took up standard combat positions. The threat about words that could sway even the mightiest of men caused the trio a fair amount of anxiety, until the thugs arrived and started talking. When they sounded friendly, Malark was unsure, but it went south quickly after.

"What are you talking about? We're here with the gems that…"

Malark buried his head in his hands. This was arguably the least convincing robbery he had ever seen. _Best performer on the Sword Coast my arse. Didn't even manage to make them sound like an actual threat. Weak._

"KILL THEM ALL!" shrieked Silke, breaking him out of his mocking monologue.

"Silke, please. I've run into fishermen who tried to get me to slaughter a twelve-year-old, and I've met two madmen who tried to come off as do-gooders, and that was still the least convincing performance I've seen in the last tenday. And one of those madmen actually talked to himself in the middle of it. I'm not slaughtering innocent bystanders."

"Our deal is off! In any case, you're probably too cowardly to be any good in a fight. I'll deal with them myself, after I deal with you!"

"IMOEN! WAND!" Malark yelled as soon as he saw he start casting a spell. The bolt of magic energy flew out of the wand Imoen had been saving, disrupting the process. It gave Ajantis enough time to beat her into a bloody pulp with his sword. The 'thugs,' it now abundantly clear they were no threat, handed the party a potion as thanks and left. Garrick, the last loose end, offered his services to the party.

"I mean, Malark, he can join us, right?" Imoen giggled. "He is cute, and he's a real bard. Someone's gotta write ballads about my bravery and beauty, ya know?"

"Am I not a real bard, Imoen? After my collected works of poetry-"

"They're just poorly written pervert smut!"

Malark cleared his throat overly dramatically. He glanced at Garrick. Both reached for lutes, and began to strum a rhythm that eventually synced up.

"Imoen, what's happening?" Ajantis asked, a fair bit of caution in his words.

"Malark's gotten really vain because I challenged his bardness and now he's going to prove himself through verse," Imoen sighed.

"Is it dangerous?"

"Only to listen to."

The bards circled each other, their chords echoing over the area.

"You call it," said Garrick.

"One verse each, ten lines, a-a-b-b-c-c-d-d-e-e stanza. Classic rules," Malark was a mask of concentration.

"Very well," sung Garrick, and the duel began.

 _An angry angst poet putting me to the test_

 _All of my learnings they came from the best_

 _I'm full of harmony, you're sounding like a husk_

 _Don't meddle with a veteran of Verdusk_

 _Who's this farce of a fop standing before me?_

 _A jack of all trades you call me Dee Bee Bee_

 _Compare me to some lout who can barely strum_

 _Are you confused because it's not just a drum?_

 _Some vocalist who likes to fight just to much_

 _An actual musician, address me as such._

"Imoen, I'm still confused. Who actually decides the victor?" Ajantis' eyes were transfixed in blanket horror.

"They do. Now cover ya ears, AJ, because Malark gets a bit… err… foul," Imoen explained.

"Not bad, kid. But I'm so much nastier," and so Malark began.

 _I take to it like a war, I keep this shit matter of fact_

 _Unlike you, working for some bitch who can't even act_

 _Quickly summon my ad-hoc, a high master of the verse_

 _Throwing verbal daggers I leave 'em for the hearse_

 _You were trained in a college with the plethora of sheep_

 _Fucker I read every story in Candlekeep_

 _I've seduced women from Kara-Tur to Akanûl_

 _Do you even know the meaning of the word pull?_

 _So pitiful, you're nothing save for a puppet on call_

 _Come back to me after a total overhaul._

They stopped playing, looked at each other briefly, and bowed. Garrick then left.

"Malark! You drive everyone I like away!" Imoen fussed.

"Yeah, well, look at his taste in people. He'd have either hated you or caused us problems in the long run. We have no shortage of naivety in this party, and I have no desire to add to it. Now let's go shopping and kill some spiders."

This went surprisingly successfully for the party. Imoen was given better armour, and the spiders stupidly bashed into Malark and Ajantis for very little effect while Imoen and Ajantis hit them till they died.

"I'm telling you guys, the key to any victory is me standing there distractingly singing! Look at what it's beaten and tell me there's any flaw in my logic here," Malark rambled as they headed to a section of town they hadn't been to yet. "Ogre? Smashed his face to goo. Crazy bandit? She was in the wrong place. Silke? Worth more than three hundred gold, we were. Spiders? If I had something ironic to say about their death, I'd say it now."

"You! HEY, YOU! Yes, you. I don't see anybody else around here. A little help, please?" cried out a voice from an alleyway.

"Sure, what is it?" Malark said as he walked down toward the voice.

"There's bandits! Vicious, magic bandits! And they must have gone to advanced bandit school or something. They're trying to capture me!" The voice belonged to a half-elf with pink hair.

"Magic bandits? I wonder if they'll say anything I can use ironically after they die - wait, hang on," Malark stopped abruptly. "Magic, spellcasting bandits? Those aren't bandits - bandits just shoot you! What are you on about?"

The half-elf groaned. "Listen, I'd love to give you a really long and detailed explanation of what's going on but—oh, look! WE'RE OUT OF TIME."

Suddenly, people in red cloaks teleported into the alley.

"Red Wizards. Fucking fantastic. I love me some Thavians in the evening, it really brightens my mood," Malark grumbled, not to anyone in particular.

"So, you would try to hide from us behind this unfortunate fool?" their leader threatened. "Your cowardice proves as dangerous as your reckless magic."

"You're the one trying to capture me!" yelled the half-elf, clearly exasperated. "And I still don't know what you want, so I'd rather not let it happen. Get out of here before me and my new friends decide to inject a fist into your mouth!"

"You there!" directed the Red Wizard to Malark, "Stand aside and give me the girl. Surely you won't risk your life for a stranger?"

"Convince me, then. Why are you hunting her? Don't get me wrong, but Red Wizards are not known for their benevolence."

"By my right as a wizard of Thay, we must study her anomalous power… whether or not she comes willingly."

"Right, I forgot, if it moves and you don't understand it, poke it with a scalpel. Oh, silly me," Malark said, realising now this was going to end one of one ways.

They slung more threats and insults at each other before, eventually, the half-elf waved her hands about, yelled some magic words, and the leading Red Wizard vanished somewhere. Malark was the first to grasp the situation.

"Imoen, wand, mage! AJ, sword, mage!" he yelled as he ran distractingly at the guards.

Once again, the wand proved a lethal tool for interrupting a spell, and without any magic protection, the mage was quickly cut down. The two guards didn't put up much of a fight after Ajantis hit them a couple of times. After a short respite to retain their breath, the half-elf looked toward the trio.

"I am really, really, really-"

"Seriously, it's fine. You okay?" Malark cut off her apology with a wave of his hand.

"Yeah, I didn't get hurt. Is there any chance I can travel with you guys? For your protection as well as mine. I swear, I'm quite a skilled spellcaster. I can hurl a fireball like you wouldn't believe!"

"You know I'm a bard, right? I can hear the ominous foreshadowing like it's a colour."

"So that means…?"

"Grab your shit, you're coming with us. At this point, I think it would be more irresponsible to let you run off."

"Fantastic! Just let me get my… well, nothing. I'm ready to go right now!"

And so the party of three became four. Neera was introduced to the group, and the party was ordered by Malark to check out the one tavern they hadn't been to yet.


	7. Chapter 7 - A Trip North

"You're at the end of you're rope, I'll wager," grumbled a dwarf brandishing a battleaxe. "Not that it's anything personal, you understand, but I'm afraid your time on this ball of mud is just about done."

The dimly-lit, dirty inn seemed to watch this display in silence, almost as if it weren't commonplace. The party had just entered, and had not received the warmest of welcomes. _This is getting pretty bloody repetitive, isn't it?_ Malark rolled his eyes as Ajantis walked forward, telling the dwarf that he'd have to get through the paladin first. _Well, at least AJ walks the walk. Note to self - black and white idealism can serve a purpose._

"C'mon mate," Malark whined, "I haven't done anything worth killing me over."

"You've done nothing to anyone," responded the dwarf, "far as I know. Don't matter one whit to me. A price is a price and a head is a head, and wherever the two meet, there's old Karlat makin' his living. Like I said, it's nothing personal."

"FOR THE GLORY OF HELM!" roared Ajantis, and the fight began. The dwarf's battleaxe clanged off Ajantis shield, as he raised his sword. The two became locked in the duel very quickly, and Imoen and Neera tried to do what they could at a safe distance. Ajantis, however, was no match, and after a couple of nasty blows, Malark realised they were in danger. _No healing items left. Shit._

"AJ, fall back!" Malark cried out as he leapt into the fray, belting into Karlat with his flail.

"Ah, fuck it, I'm out!" yelled Karlat, as he began to run.

"Oh no you don't!" Malark began to chase the dwarf, as Imoen kept loosing arrows. After running around the inn and generally terrifying the patrons, eventually, one of Imoen's arrows managed to bring the dwarf to a stop.

"What is this?!" Ajantis exclaimed after picking a note up off the ground. "This is a 'wanted' description of you, Malark. An evil enemy wants you dead, so it seems! Let us carry on with our search and not be discouraged by such developments. We are on the right path, and the enemy will be defeated in the end."

"How much gold are they offering?" asked Neera.

"Don't tell-" Malark tried to stop him.

"Three hundred and fifty gold, and not a coin less," Ajantis answered, a paragon of honesty.

"..her," grumbled Malark. "Guess I'll die with a smile on my face, then." He walked off and ordered a beer from the counter.

"Make that two!" called out Neera as she ran over to the counter. "You never told me people were trying to murder you!"

"Never came up," Malark said as he took a sip and winced. _Well, cheapest drink at the cheapest inn in town. What did I expect, honestly?_ "Besides, weren't you offering mutual protection? I'd say a cranky person with a fair bit of gold is a lot less of a threat than an entire magocracy ruled by a lich. Anyhow, that's beside the point. What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know," grumbled Neera into her mug.

"Fair enough," said Malark as he finished his beer. "I'm going to bard around and annoy some patrons. You do you."

* * *

They returned to the Friendly Arm Inn, spider corpse, wine bottle, and boots in tow, and set about seeking out the gnome who asked them to do it. A lot of currency was changed hand, Neera looking on a little in shock, and they went downstairs to discuss their next moves and plans of action.

"To Nashkel next, then?" asked Ajantis. "I believe that was where the bandits were most concentrated."

"Incorrect. Out next move is the cloakwood-" started Malark.

"Cloakwood?" asked the rest of the party in a mix of confusion and horror.

"Yeah, Cloakwood, to get that dwarf his cloak back. And then we need to head to high hedge, to fetch that shortsword from that halfling I tried to drown in the red sheath. Then we need to detour south of beregost and get those boots so I can get my money back…"

"Malark, how many random people did you say yes to doing stuff for?" Imoen asked, very suspiciously.

"A few too many, by the sounds of it. They just started talking and like they were all offering rewards and I like having nice things so I said yes I mean what's the problem?" Malark rambled, hoping his rambling could dig him out of the fact that during his pub crawl he had forgotten to be a cynic.

"I'll make a hero of you yet, Malark!" cried Ajantis, in delight.

"Yeah, but only because it's easy money. Seriously, we have enough money now that even if someone dies bringing them back is going to be easy, and that's not counting the potential money out of all these magic items I can't work out."

"He's a giant pansy and he's just lying so he doesn't look lame," giggled Imoen at Ajantis, having a fair bit of fun at Malark's expense. Malark, to his credit, just sighed and ordered another round, including the water for Ajantis.

They left the next morning for the fishing village north of the Friendly Arm Inn, Malark of the opinion that selling an ankheg shell to the smith in Beregost was probably a good idea. Neera approached him on the way.

"All this travelling, all this adventure...how do you manage it?" she asked. "Until now I was barely able to keep my head above water. Yet here with you, it seems almost… easy!"

"Honestly?" pondered Malark, "I think it just comes down to safety in numbers. I'd be dead were I on my own."

"Wow, really? You seem way more capable than that. Not that I'd know. Travelling companions have been in short supply. My life on the road has been a solitary affair, full of cold nights and colder dreams. It's enough to make a girl want to head back to High Forest."

"Well, that explains the pointy ears."

"I'm a HALF-ELF!"

"I mean, duh. The human-like features and the pink hair-"

"That was a wild surge," pouted Neera.

"Uh-huh. And pray tell, what colour was it before?"

"...lavender," Neera replied sheepishly.

"And the educated have never been right about anything before. So why did you leave? I'm going to guess it was… surgetastic?"

"You really know how to get someone to open up," Neera replied, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Why, yes, let me just share intimate details about my past, ha ha. You put me right at ease."

"...I'm going to take that as a yes?"

"You're the worst. During my magic training a sphere of fire I had summoned got away from me somehow. One moment I was concentrating, the next moment my classmates were rolling on the floor screaming."

"There's no way anyone actu…" Malark paused, remembering to think about his words, something he did far too infrequently. "Alright, I totally see how someone _could_ blame you but I also think no-one _should_ blame you."

"They probably wouldn't have had I taken responsibility or grabbed a bucket of water or did anything other than just run away, terrified of what I'd done."

"Wait, what?" Malark couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "You didn't do anything? At all?"

"Horrible, I know. Afterward, I ran into the woods and couldn't go back to bear to face the consequences. I snuck back into the village now and then for food, and once to leave a note for my parents, but eventually I had to leave. I took to wandering High Forest, but I kept running into the wrong people and doing the wrong thing. Eventually, Turlang the treant grabbed me and said, 'take a hike.' Well, maybe not in those words exactly."

"Guessing they share your love of rambling stories, then, huh?"

"Hey! I open up to you-"

"Relax," chuckled Malark, "I'm a bard from a _library_. I don't think you could find an individual who enjoys long, rambling stories nearly as much. Tell me more some time. Seems like an interesting enough tale."

"Huh. I forgot some people are crazier than me. Well, whatever. Let's continue this journey together then, shall we?"

As they arrived at the fishing village, it wasn't long before Malark has stumbled onto a distraught farmer who had lost his son. It took all of three seconds for him to crumble into 'we will do whatever we can,' then charged headlong into an ankheg nest.

"I mean, we're guaranteed to find a shell here, right?" Malark asked, hoping to find some support.

"Were 'a giant pansy' the words you used to describe him last night, miss?" Ajantis asked Imoen.

"I do believe they were," Imoen giggled. "Although I'm not too keen on ankhegs. I don't like bugs, and I sure don't like giant acid spitting bugs, no sir."

"AJ, you nearly promised the farmer our souls and the return of his child," Malark retorted. "It's lucky I cut you off when I did. And given the last ankheg has damn nearly killed me and AJ, can't say I've much love for them either."

"Weren't they such a great field study?" Imoen asked rather cheekily, jabbing Malark in the ribs.

"What can I say?" responded Malark. "I get superpowers for the sake of ruining your day. On the subject of superpowers, both Neera and I have no useful spellpower left and we haven't found the son. You might have to trigger a surge."

So when the next ankheg appeared, she did exactly that. Unfortunately, it didn't put the ankheg to sleep, and just made her legs slower. While Ajantis was able to bound into the fray, Neera had less success.

"EAT FLAMING," she cried out as she waddled toward the ankheg, as threateningly as possible with her quarterstaff held above her head, "-or, uh, possibly frosty- DEATH!"

Malark could barely keep his song up he was laughing so hard. The mood did sober when Ajantis found the body of the farmer's son. While there was a great haul of magic loot, it wasn't something for them to revel in. Malark groaned like a mistreated zombie the second Ajantis said he lacked the strength to carry both the son and the shell of the ankheg, but it was clear the shell was a more minor priority.

After returning the son to his father, and some nudging bellowing from Ajantis, Malark managed to persuade the farmer to take some money given he was losing his land and had lost his only son. They ran very quickly into the nest again to retrieve a shell, and headed back to the Friendly Arm to receive clerical treatment and sell the loot Malark could identify.

Before they even had a chance to rest, Malark had them off on the march again. This time, they were headed to the cloakwood. The tasloi had no chance against Ajantis' melee prowess. After setting camp there, they headed into the temple near Beregost to heal Ajantis.

After some discussion of the party healer and total lack thereof, the head priest mentioned they needed less hobgoblins in the area. This was enough to set Malark off, and he found the hobgoblin band after a little wandering around. After a generic threat for their money or their life, and Malark's typically irreverent response, the leader of the band rallied his battle cry.

"You brave! So brave, we cut your heart out and show you! Chill, attack!" The hobgoblin took a second to look around him. "Chill?"

His entire army were victims of sleep spells from Malark and Neera, and his only other standing bandit was quickly cut down by bolts of magic energy from Neera.

"Ah, fuck-" bemoaned the hobgoblin before Ajantis hacked through him.

The party decided to check off another job or two before heading off, and went to sell the ankheg to the smith. He offered to make them a suit of ankheg plate for four thousand gold, a sum the party could barely front. Telling them it would be done in three days, Ajantis insisted Malark see through helping all the citizens he agreed to help.

"Wait, what citizens?" Malark enquired.

"The halflings you were telling us about in the Friendly Arm. Do you genuinely not remember?"

"Can't it wait, like, three days? I can get so much pampering done in that time," moaned Malark, accepting he was fighting a losing battle, followed it with a sigh. "Looks like I hired a conscience then. One more round, then we go."

"Why do you insist on drinking that… swill before we go out?" Ajantis asked.

"Because, AJ, I'll rationalise myself into doing the selfish thing if I don't," confessed Malark, starting his drink. "Now let's go be friendly neighbourhood adventurers."

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I just could barely chuck in any jokes here. Given the title, I think we all knew a fair bit of drama and inner conflict was coming; hopefully this story finishes with a few well finished character arcs. I'm trying to find a balance; but I think part of that balance means some chapters will be up and others will be down. Pacing is proving tough. Anyhow, that ankheg plate is going to be super handy, especially since having two suits means I won't have to spend even more on full plate before Nashkel mines - the reason should reveal itself next time. Hopefully another chapter in the next couple of days, hopefully I don't burn out.


	8. Chapter 8 - Neighbourhood Adventurer

"Th-thank ye," clucked the chicken. "You have 'cluck' saved me."

It would be an odd sight to any observer to see an armoured, hooded man squatting low to engage in dialogue with a common hen. This, however, was the situation Malark and company had found themselves in. The process of getting there was simple enough. The party had romped around the outskirts of Beregost, checking off the odd jobs they had picked up. They got back the sword, found a note, retrieved the boots, stumbled onto a cache of healing potions when Malark said he felt like going further west.

After about a full day's travel, they set up camp for the night. When they woke in the morning, a hungry wolf attacked the party. Nothing seemed off about this to any of the party members; it wasn't the first time this sort of thing had happened. What was a first, however, was a chicken waddling over to thanks its rescuers.

"Aaaaahhh!" screamed Malark in feigned terror. "Unholy magics are afoot! This chicken is possessed! This bird is _FOUL_!"

"If you are quite 'cluck' through with the the-'cluck'-atrics," complained the chicken, "my situation is indeed quite 'cluck' grave!"

"I'm sure the fate of the universe _hen_ ges on it!" Malark, obviously, was not through with the theatrics.

"Thank you," continued the chicken into their complaints. "Yes, 'cluck' that was just what I needed in my 'cluck' hour of need. You laugh it up while I *cluck* learn to cope with passing eggs."

"Holding out on a _wing_ and a prayer, then? I'm sure it'll never get the _breast_ of you then. Am I ruffling your feathers?"

"Malark!" interrupted Imoen.

"Right, right, don't need to _egg_ myself on." Malark paused. "Alright, I'm done. So I'm guessing that you don't want to be a talking chicken forever? Suppose you'd be making a bit of a _cock_ of yourself."

"MALARK!" yelled Imoen, louder this time.

"Yeah, I lied about being done. I've got a million more to _hatch_."

Imoen dragged Malark away while he continued to pull as many chicken puns as he could out of his brain, leaving Ajantis to handle the chicken situation. What Ajantis learned was that the chicken was called Melicamp, that he was polymorphed, and that his master could probably dispel it. After waiting patiently for Imoen to finish lecturing Malark, they agreed to take the chicken to the wizard, on the condition that Malark stopped.

He didn't.

* * *

"I don't have much patience for strangers on my property. Do us both a favor and move along... Unless, of course, you have magic for sale. From the looks of you, you couldn't afford the items I have for sale."

"Hang on just a bloody second there!" Malark was not used to being on the receiving end of sass, least of all it from old men.

"I sincerely hope you have some reason for bothering me," said the wizard. "I've already stated that I wish you to leave."

"Well, tonight's dinner wanted to talk to you."

"What? It's just a simple polymorph then. Chickens do not talk. It will wear off with time, and is not worth the waste of my day. Keep moving."

"I haven't completely flown the _coop_ \- oh, wow, I still haven't stopped - yet, mate. This chicken claims to be your apprentice."

"Apprentice?! I have had no apprentice. I teach no-one about what I… wait… Melicamp? MELICAMP, is that you?!"

"Cluck," crowed the chicken, meekly.

After a riveting analysis of the situation, Malark fetched a skull from one of the skeletons they had killed on the way. Fortunately for Melicamp, it all worked out in the end. Having been wished intelligence for their journey, the group returned to Beregost to sort out their tidbits. All the missing items were returned, and words travelled of their deeds.

A couple of nights later, Neera caught Malark's ear at Feldepost's inn, while Ajantis was pawning off loot.

"Have we honestly spent the last four days just fetching stuff people had misplaced?"

"Huuh," considered Malark, "I guess we have." After finished everything on their to-do list, the party had gone out, found items people hadn't told them were lost, found the owners by asking around town and returned their items. Given Malark had spent most of the time trying to remember and record all his chicken puns into verse form, it hadn't occurred to him that he had spent nearly half a week as a glorified gopher. "Aww, and I thought the best part about escaping Candlekeep was I wouldn't have to run errands anymore. Oh, Gods, I must have been brainwashed! Neera, save me from this curse of idle item investigation!"

"I can't believe you," lamented Neera, rolling her eyes.

"Ah, at least it pays better out here. We're up a thousand gold on when we left. I'd say I made just about the right calls, to be honest. If only we could find a healer - pity I turned those two away back then. Was that it?"

"Umm," said Neera hesitantly, "well, errr… no. I actually have a favour to ask."

"Oh, I can feel the extortion coming. Will it be the right arm or the left?"

"Even though I ran away at first because I was scared, I've begun to think I should find a way to reduce the unfortunate side effects of my otherwise awesome spells."

"What? I'm all in favour of the surges," joked Malark. "You can hobble screaming at more ankhegs. It sounds like a great time."

"Casting wild magic is like... playing a flute by ear," said Neera, rolling her eyes. "I just kinda... picked it up as I went along, doing what felt natural. In magical terms, I can play a pretty mean tune. But when I miss a note, the flute shoots fire at everyone." She paused for a second. "Also, the flute sometimes turns me into a hamster."

"Do we have any other hamsters? Because-"

"Malark, the three of us made it very clear last night. No hamster cage matches."

"...if you'd seen the one in Candlekeep you'd all be trying to buy hamsters," Malark mumbled dejectedly.

"Anyway," sighed Neera, "Wild mages tend to keep to themselves for rather obvious-"

"How has surgetastic not caught on?"

"Are you taking this seriously? At all?" Neera scowled at Malark, anger brimming in her eyes.

"Obstificating stupidity. It's a defense mechanism."

"What?"

"I'm listening carefully to everything you say, but by acting goofy and disinterested, I can avoid both opening up to people and it causes people to let their guard down and tell me more things than they normally would."

"You realise you just opened up to me, right?"

"Don't worry, I realised the irony long before I finished the sentence," said Malark, as he cracked a dry grin. "Now, something about wild mages keeping to themselves?"

"Huh, you were listening," said Neera, surprised. "Anyway, I've heard about a very old and wise one nearby. His name is Adoy, and he was last seen east of Firewine Bridge."

"I mean, we should have some spare time after we've sorted out Nashkel, so why not?"

"Ugghhh," groaned Neera, "I can't tell if you're being serious or not now! You deserve all your unprevented electrocutions and your permanent baldness if you're lying to me."

"Guess you'll just have to wait and see then," smirked Malark, as he ordered another beer.

The party then returned to high hedge. Malark wished to purchase the potion case from the wizard, as well as any good spell scrolls for himself and Neera, so the party went. As rain began to fall and a thunderstorm set in, Malark braced himself for the worst. He was the only one wearing metal armour - Imoen was in leather, Neera had robes, and Ajantis had giant, acid spitting, insect skin. After the skeleton attack, he was especially concerned. He was barely standing, until a flash of light struck right behind him.

"Only take me to a licensed cleric…" moaned Neera from behind, smoke coming from her ears, as she collapsed dead.

"How in the hells did that not him me?" asked Malark frantically, before his emotional brain finally managed to overpower his analytical one. "Oh Gods, she's dead. Can we bring her back?"

"If you act quickly and have some coin," said a voice from the shadows. "What brings you this far from civilization?"

"Gear to help us smite these cursed bandits from the face of Toril!" cried Ajantis, causing Malark to pinch the bridge of his nose in utter frustration. "Oh, Imoen. Sorry for the, uh, rough language."

"You realise I grew up with Malark, right?" Imoen teased. "Ignoring him half the time is about the only way to stay sane."

"A strange coincidence!" continued the elf from under the tree. "I have a quest similar to your own. I have been hunting the bandits in the region for the past few months. Perhaps if we worked together we would fare better. What say you to that?"

"A fair argument," considered Malark, "but I'd need more than that. A few months is a long time. Why?"

"Their leader, an ogre named Tazok, took the life of someone very dear to me."

"I don't know if that kind of vengfu-" Malark was cut off

"OH YOU POOR THING!" wept Imoen, launching herself around the elf. "Of course you can come with us!"

After the combined strength of Ajantis, Malark, and Kivan - or so the ranger said his name was - found themselves unable to remove Imoen, they gave up and went to buy the potion case before a quick temple stop on their way south. Apparently, the wizard knew Kivan, and Kivan had even protected him from bandits before. With a returned spear and a potion case, the party left for the temple.

* * *

Within moments of arrival, Kivan attempted to break down the priest of literal sunshine with angst - this did not succeed. As the party vaguely surrounded Neera, anxiously, she eventually drew breath. As the party sighed in relief, she bolted upright, millimetres from Malark's eyes.

"Do you ever miss Candlekeep, Malark?"

In Candlekeep, as a result of being such an isolated community, pretty well everyone who lived or frequented there had a reputation. Hull, for example, was the only man who could ever threaten Winthrop's mead supply. Malark, being a particularly charismatic individual who naturally found himself in the spotlight, had a very clear reputation. He had possibly the foulest mouth in the library, could weasel himself out of just about any trouble, and always had a snarky response to everything.

So for Imoen, Neera coming back from the dead and interrogating Malark like it was nothing was the second most shocking thing she had ever seen; Malark's gaping maw in utter mortified confusion, unable to even eek out the slightest of sound was as if the sky had turned green and the grass blue.

"Uhhh… yeah," Malark eventually managed to half-mumble as his brain finally started to make sense of the situation.

"I know exactly what you mean," chuckled Neera, clearly amused by the scene she had caused. "If there's one thing I miss about High Forest, it's definitely the food. Well, that, and the beds. Oh! And the baths! Feels like I haven't had a proper bath in _weeks_."

"Huh," mumbled Malark, sniffing. "I mean, I'd say you're a little fragrant, given we abused the hospitality of Feldeposts less than a day ago, but that wouldn't do it justice. Oghma's collective papercuts, you smell _awful._ Like the most rotten zombie exploded onto a ghast and that ghast was made from a skeleton."

"Well," huffed Neera, "thanks, Malark. Thanks ever so. You're just the nicest person in the whole wide world and not at all offensive to sweet elven mages!"

"I think you mean _half-elven,_ " retorted Malark, in his best Neera impersonation. She stared at him blankly.

"Actually, coming back to life does come with the unfortunate side effect of the smell," commented Kelddath, "You start to not notice it after your enough resurrections. I'd completely forgotten."

"Malark?" asked Neera. "Can we stay at an inn tonight? He's not wrong about the _mormhaor saurot_."

"I really wished I had time to spare on languages," lamented Malark over his own lack of culture. "Yes. Soon as we hit Nashkel, first order of business."

* * *

With that, the party headed southward. _Finally, real progress. No running in circles because I'm unable to say no to anyone. No waiting for ankheg body parts to be made into protective clothing. No ankhegs, even! Everything's coming up Malark._ Despite the vividness and intensity of his internal monologue, Kivan managed to draw Malark's attention as they reached the road the party had fought a hobgoblin bandit group.

"For a bookworm you are well at ease outdoors, my young friend. I can see only the smallest indications that you are not accustomed to walking under the beasts trails and sleeping under the dome adorned by stars."

"I'm a bard, old man," offered Malark, a hint of humour drifting into his voice. "If I can't do anything I set my mind to, I think I'm failing at my profession."

"Of course you can," said Kivan, his voice full of warmth. "It is only that you remind me of myself on my first ranging. I wonder if, like me, you feel that it is time for you to start living. And if I am not mistaken, you are quite pleased with that change."

"I'm afraid you are mistaken there," confessed Malark. "This is a resigned fate, nothing more. Gorion is dead. Were I able, I'd hide under the biggest rock in the securest fortress in the city furthest from here, but that just isn't an option for me anymore. This isn't living, it's just surviving."

"I wish I could console you, Malark, yet I cannot. I know the pain and the emptiness of a loss and the hopelessness all too well. However, we must keep going, if only to avenge those who are so mercilessly erased from this world."

"As if that was going to solve anything," mumbled Malark to himself as Kivan walked away. _I'd have already slaughtered the armoured figure myself if it would._

* * *

A/N: So we added Kivan to the party and the timer is on! 20 days to bandit camp. Few quick things; Neera's bit of Elven there translates to "undeath taint," closest I could pick out to note the smell of the dead, and Elven is basically the fantasy equivalent of French. A few of the odder parts here are things that made me question the game's rather odd sense of timing with a little bit of artistic license - Neera was killed by that lightning bolt on my way to Kivan, and the _second_ she was resurrected that dialog popped up. We finally finished chapter one, yay. Next time we handle arriving in Nashkel and meeting two fan favourites - Minsc and Edwin. I'm having fun just thinking about how Malark can make them squirm - he's been so passive these last couple of chapters.


	9. Chapter 9 - Nashkel

"I need a bowl of soup, an axe, and if no-one has a pet hedgehog, I guess we just wait for Neera to surge then?" asked Malark as he walked into the inn. "I need someone to juggle them."

The candlelight of the inn seemed to flicker, as if the whole room were blinking in shock. The constant murmur of the bar faded into naught. All the silence made the slight groan of the floorboard seem like a roar as an armoured woman walked slowly towards them.

"Just fancy my luck to see you stroll in here," she said, dragging her club along a table, "bold as day. I expected to see a hunt and chase from the description, but-"

"Shush!" cried Malark, putting his finger to his lips. "I've got other stuff to do than be assassinated. Noon tomorrow sound good to you?"

"What?" even the assassin was startled at Malark's outright rejection. She froze, a little confused.

"Look, lady, I appreciate you have things to do, but there is a monk out front and I'm, like, eighty percent sure I can make him display his fighting routine while juggling the three most dangerous and precarious items I can find in here."

"This is going to be the easiest gold I've ever made," grumbled the assassin as she tried to cast a spell at the party. A few arrows missing from Kivan's quiver later, the assassin was thoroughly dealt with.

"Malark, I think this is starting to get out of hand," said Imoen, tugging at his sleeve.

"You're damn right this is getting out of hand!" yelled Malark. Before Imoen could apologise, he continued. "How hard is it to find a hedgehog? Kivan, what do hedgehog footprints look like?"

"I… I don't get you, Malark," Imoen mumbled, mortified.

"Hey, I apparently don't get to see a monk juggle Neera as a small mammal. Truly, I share your pain."

* * *

Malark found himself at the bar. Placing the glass in his hands carefully onto the counter, he saw Neera walk up to him, looking a little confused as she sat opposite him.

"Umm, Malark," she asked, "Why are you on the bartender's side of the bar?"

"Bartender's hiding in his room after 'a dizzy spell' after filling up the bath, which -" he paused a moment to sniff, "-seems you came out of. Neera."

"Yes?" she replied, very slowly and carefully.

"You're a shadowdark girl, aren't you?" he said, as he handed her a glass.

"Huh, thanks," she smiled as she sipped the drink.

"Now what in the name of Cuthulu's most unholy magics did you do to that poor man!?" Neera spat her drink over the counter. Malark sighed and grabbed a towel.

"He was peeking!" Neera pouted at him. "He deserved worse than what he got. He's lucky I was in a good mood, or he'd have ended up with a tail, or worse, bunny ears."

"That's a matter of perspective, really," chuckled Malark, leaning on the counter. "I've definitely met people who wanted tails and bunny ears. Perks of living in a library - you meet some very odd people."

"Ooooh, tell me about the oddest!"

"I met a gnome who had eaten their own toe off their own foot." Neera gaped at Malark, so he decided to go into greater detail. "Apparently she did it to scare off a drow war party on a travel to the underdark - she was an illusionist. So the obvious question is, right, why didn't she just make an illusion of it?" Neera gestured for him to continue. "You wouldn't believe it, but apparently she was too hungry to think clearly."

"You're pulling my leg," Neera gently punched his shoulder, her eyes wide with excitement.

"If peeking risks bunny ears and tails, I think I'm giving myself a wide berth from your legs. I think even Oghma doesn't want to know what horrific trick you'd pull."

"You got me to an inn tonight," Neera shrugged, "you'd probably get off with a short term polymorph." An awkward silence hung for a second or two, as both of them tried to process what she said. "But seriously, she ate her own toe because she was _hungry_?"

"Have you ever met a hungry gnome? I've run away from a lot of things in my time, but a hungry gnome is by far the most dangerous. They lose all rational thought."

"If that's the case, I'm going to bed before you give me any nightmares."

"Pity it's too late for the bartender. Goodnight, Neera."

"Thanks again. Night!"

* * *

Malark had only just finished adjusting to the horrible sensation of sunlight after a few too many the night before when he had Kivan and Ajantis inform him that he would be helping Naskhel with the problems in the mines. _Suppose it's kinda my fault for running off Khalid and Jaheira. I'd feel too guilty if I didn't._ He mused, before them telling him they'd also picked up two bounty quests.

"Anything else you've found while I've been screaming in the sunlight like a vocalised vampire?" Malark asked, almost scared to hear the answer.

"Just a very big man yelling about 'butts to be kicked' or something equally crass," replied Ajantis.

"Fuck it," shrugged Malark, and they left for the other end of town.

* * *

"I agree Boo," said the huge man to hamster quite hammishly, "they look to be friendly. Greetings, we are Minsc and Boo. We have travelled far to explore this land, but now my charge Dynaheir has been taken from us. 'Twas gnolls, and once we have tracked them I will beat sense into their heads until they release her. Accompany us, and bards will sings of the deeds of Minsc and Boo… and friends."

"Malark, a man can be tort-" Kivan tried speak, but Malark cut him off with a wave.

"Hold that thought, Kivan, because I'm kind of a stickler for a some details. Excuse me, sir, are you talking to a hamster?"

"Yes! Boo is my faithful animal companion, and more than he seems!" shouted Minsc with delight.

"Does he do cage matches?"

"Malark!" shouted Neera, punching him on the shoulder.

"Boo is very fond of cage matches," confirmed Minsc, oblivious to the angry half-elf. "But beware, he is actually a miniature giant space hamster and therefore has never lost a bout!"

"Miniature… giant space hamster," slowly said Malark, nodding carefully. "Did I get that right?"

"Yes! Boo likes the forest."

"Right." Malark took a moment to collect his thoughts. "Umm, my sympathies, good man, but I'm not following a raging lunatic into battle, and no amount of potential rodents ruckuses will persuade me otherwise. Best of luck for your friend."

"You would leave an innocent to suffer with nary a twitch of your sword arm? RrraaaAAGHGHHH!" screamed Minsc as he went into battle. Two arrows later, Minsc lay still on the ground.

The party stood in awe of the situation. Malark's general apathy to the world around him had caused what seemed to be a decent man to try and cut them down in cold blood. Imoen and Neera tried to avoid eye contact; Ajantis just stayed frozen still. Kivan, however, had enough experience to cool his head quickly, and grabbed Malark by the front of his cloak.

"Some mess you've made here, Malark," scowled Kivan. "Do you perhaps plan on fixing this?"

"Look, I'm not backing down on my decision not to take him with us. This pretty well proves my point."

"And of the woman?" asked Kivan, still grabbing him roughly. "Will you allow her to be dishonoured with no-one coming to save her?"

"We go get her," answered Malark, dusting Kivan off. "I'm not leaving someone in the hands of gnolls. But we make sure we're prepared first. That's what hasty action looks like," he said, pointing at Minsc's body.

"Fine," scowled Kivan, walking off.

 _I'm still too fucking hungover for this,_ grumbled Malark internally. _But for Ogmha's sake, I just got someone killed by goofing off! How the in the hells does that happen? Ugh, this is going to be such a pain in the arse._

As the party was crossing the bridge to the west, a red cloaked man waved down their attention, in a little bit of a hurry.

"I am the wizard Edwin, and I require you!" He exclaimed, while waving his arms at them till they stopped. "Yes, they will do nicely," he mumbled, before returning to speaking more clearly. "I would have you kill a witch, a witch Dynahier-"

"Oh for fuck's sake," groaned Malark.

"It seems it would do us well to get to her more quickly," added Kivan. "She should be warned of this man's plotting."

"Hang on, hang on," said Malark to Kivan, waving his hand to slow him down. "Has she done anything to merit death? Randomly attacked any bards who place their health high on their list of priorities? Anything like that?"

"Malark, this suspicion is untoward!" interjected Ajantis.

"Yeah, but not unfounded."

"It is no concern of yours," answered Edwin. "You need but perform the act with no questions. What is your answer?"

"No," chorused the party, and Edwin left in a huff.

Continuing west, the party continued their successes with the wonderful individuals they encountered. A man decided to hang onto them the whole way, and it took the combined strength of Ajantis, Kivan and Malark to keep her from murdering him horribly. She didn't stay mad for long, and then began to pester Ajantis about turning the whole world pink. Ajantis, to his credit, cried out to Helm for mercy.

"Malark, I think we need a break," said Neera, grabbing him by the shoulder.

"Time really isn't our friend right now, Neera." _Great, now I'm caught in a balancing act between Kivan's revenge hard-on, the general sanity of the group, and unintentional obligations to avoid random witches getting slaughtered. Should have stayed in the library._ "Though I suppose we can go to the circus."

"Circus?" asked Neera, hope in her eyes.

"Circus!" screamed Imoen, putting down her pink paint brush and letting Ajantis breath a heavy sigh of relief.

"I'll take that as a yes, then," said Malark, a little confused to how Imoen got Ajantis pinned on the ground. Come on."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the length between updates; I got busy and hit a lump of writers block. Here's some progress though.


End file.
